


Inferno

by maraas



Series: The Divine Comedy [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraas/pseuds/maraas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets are meant to be kept; promises are meant to be kept closer. What was supposed to be a simple retrieval of information became much more when Superbi Squalo found a strange man stoking the fire at his camp. The man called himself Virgil; Squalo called him a nightmare made flesh. Now, there was only one thing that Squalo was sure of: God was not going to answer his prayers. Not now, not ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canto I - The Fated Meeting

Picking through the thick jungles of the Amazon was not something that Superbi Squalo ever imagined himself doing. Not without proper equipment or backup, but whatever was in the plane crash, Xanxus didn’t trust anyone else with. The landing had been messy and his gear had caught up in the thick foliage; fog drifted around him so thick that he could not see even ten feet down. The drop off point had been all wrong---the plane hadn’t been built for parachuters. In other words: Superbi Squalo was fucked.

Cutting himself out of the parachutes cords, the forest’s sounds made him feel as if he were drowning. Droplets of dew landed on his forehead, mixing with sweat and rolling down his chin. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He screamed and the forest only grew louder. There was no one around but him to hear. Him and the bugs, the howler monkeys, and the snakes. The climb down was clumsy---being hundreds of feet in the air was unnerving---even more so when there was no one to tease or snarl at. 

Usually Belphegor would be with him, laughing and threatening, but as his fingers dug into the bark and his muscles burned from over exertion, the loud forest seemed quiet and soft. By the time he finished his ascent, Squalo was soaked in sweat. Humidity made breathing feel as if he was drowning like the doggish bastard he was. _What kind of God makes something so beautiful and so terrible all at once?_

Trees with thick trunks towered over him and vines hung low. The ground felt slick underneath his feet and the thick foliage made moving toward the wreckage slow and boring. Eyes sharp, he still growled every so often when he made near missteps or came across a particularly thorny bush. It was easy to make mistakes here. Especially when it seemed like every plant and animal was poisonous, vicious, or covered in spines.

His backpack was heavy and his shoulders felt like lead, each step a journey that he resented. Searching for a clear highpoint in the forest took hours, climbing higher toward the wreckage took days. Now, a heavy rain fell, and Squalo stood atop a precipice that took a sharp, near 90 degree turn downward. He could see the glint of a plane’s wing high above him, shining brighterwhen lightning raced across the sky.

Dirty, gritty fingers yanked a leech off his arm and he stuffed it in his mouth and chewed it hard. Instead of spitting it out, he swallowed and grinned. It tasted like blood; it tasted like victory. The forest had swallowed him whole, made an animal of him, and when the lightning struck a nearby tree he let out a low, frustrated hiss.

He’d get nowhere like this.

His campsite from last night was a short walk, made easier by the way he had hacked his way toward the cliff’s edge, and the fire half hidden by a rock formation still had coals burning. Expecting to warm his hands alone, the light was a welcome sight, but it was far too bright than what he remembered it being just a moment ago. A man stood before the flames, stoking it and rubbing his leather worn hands together. With dark hair and honey colored eyes, the remnants of a suit covered his thinning body. The plane had not been commercial; the plane had given no mercy. The survivors would have either lived or died.

This one had lived.

And now Squalo had the displeasure of seeing the man bask in the glow of his fire; his salvation.  
The predator within him roared and Squalo brandished his sword, letting out a shout that made the man’s sad, baggy eyes look hollow and skin pale. 

“You’re going to tell me who you are and why the fuck you’re using my shit---or you die.” Silver hair turned a dull gray in the torrential rain and his clothes clung to him, winds making him shiver. The man raised his hands above his head, as if Squalo was pointing a gun at him, and it made the shark laugh.

“I know why you are here.” The answer was given quietly, shakily. “I will help you find what you seek.”

Squalo arched his eyebrows and stepped underneath the overhang of moss covered stone, circling him like a prize to be taken----and he would take it by force if he had to. “How? Why would you help me?”

“You are Superbi Squalo, second in command to the Varia, and Xanxus’ closest friend. Perhaps his only friend.” This time the man sat down. As if he were sure that Squalo was all talk. It made his nostrils flare.

“He’s my fucking boss, not my friend.” When he finally was certain that the man was mostly harmless, Squalo sat down on the other side of the fire, grey eyes staring through the flames. It felt as if the man was staring not at him, but into him, and it made his stomach flutter. When his words were met with a stare and kindly eyes, Squalo spat into the fire. “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

More silence. The rain grew deafening. Finally, as the rain abated, the man with the honey colored eyes and tattered suit smiled. “My name is Virgil.”

Squalo paused, nose twitched, and he laughed so hard that the cavern echoed back. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”


	2. Canto II: Cradled

Virgil followed him with a persistence that rivaled Kyouya’s demand of following rules, trailing behind and pointing out different oddities of the jungle. It was annoying, but not quite as annoying as being alone, so Squalo amused him once in awhile by asking questions. Now, the final climb was at hand, and Squalo wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Virgil _was_ ; Virgil always talked.

“Could you shut the fuck up for at least two seconds?” Squalo hollered in Virgil’s general direction. They were running low on food all ready and rain impeded their movement by three days. At this point, Squalo was hoping that the point of retrieval was still possible to arrive at. 

Virgil smiled and gave the vine Squalo was shimmying up a good, hard yank. Scrambling, Squalo shrieked, swearing at the older man. “What’s your problem? Jesus Christ.” At the most opportune times, Virgil grew silent, proving his point with a simple action. Belphegor always mocked; Xanxus always grew violent. Virgil’s quiet stillness made him feel on edge, jaw muscles twitching as he made his way to the top.

He stood high above Virgil now, thick vine wiggling as the man took hold of it. Squalo smiled widely, teeth sharp and white. “I could cut that damn vine down and leave you to die.” His fingers twitched. “Can you even make it up, old man?” Mockery thick in his voice, Squalo let out a harsh laugh. “God above, you’re really going to climb it, aren’t you?”

Virgil was halfway up and his arms were visibly shaking. With one leg hooked around the thick vine, he used his arms to pull himself upward and his leg to pause and rest. Squalo continued to shout and jeer, but his eyebrows raised when the other said nothing, grunting and huffing with each reach upward.

When he neared the top, the earth beneath the vine began to give way, small stones tumbling off the side and making a loud smack when they hit the ground below. Squalo hesitated, looking down at the man and his kindly eyes. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he had to be burdened with this sad, pathetic man in this awful, vicious jungle.

But Squalo knelt down and held out his hand anyways, letting out a loud sigh, and he finally assented to the man following him about. “Come on. Corpses get nasty in places like this and I don’t want to have to smell you for miles on end.” Virgil hesitated. Squalo frowned. “Fucking hurry up. You wanna die or something?”

His hand was taken and when Squalo yanked him upward, he imagined the skin slipping right off the man, leaving only bones. Even Virgil’s hands were thin and gnarled, like a tree that stood for far too long. Squalo leaned against a tree, flicking an ant off his shoulder as Virgil caught his breath. They stayed like that for a while. The plane wasn’t going anywhere and Squalo knew he’d be late to the point of retrieval no matter what he did. He uncapped his canteen of water and took a sip, then held it out for the other to take. Virgil took it with those gnarled hands and his teeth gnashed against the bottle. His entire body still trembled---it was a wonder that he hadn’t died already.

Another moment of silence passed before Virgil looked over to him, baggy eyes lifting as he smiled. “Squalo.” The bottle was exchanged once more and the cap went on with a snap. “Thank you.”

Squalo turned his back to him, clipping the canteen to his backpack as he began the final trek. “Whatever.” Another pause. “Old man.” He reached up and touched the cross that hung loosely off his neck. It was silver and simple, something Squalo had since he was young. “How do you know about me? About boss?” 

“How does one know anything?” Virgil chuckled, finally falling into step next to Squalo. “No, but in all seriousness, I do not give without receiving.” His gnarled hand grabbed Squalo’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop, strong and harsh. “Cobra to your left. Stay still.”

“I think I would have seen a fucking Co---oh shit.” Okay, so he made one mistake, and now the snake was staring straight at them. So much for being conspicuous. “We’re killing this fucker, right?” He side eyed Virgil, whom shook his head, and Squalo groaned. “This tree hugging son of a bitch is gonna get me killed.” Oh dear, had he said that outloud?

“Squalo.” Virgil smiled. “Just shut up.” It was the first time the old man had spoken to him in that way. A quiet anger that could part the ocean and drill through a mountain. Swallowing thickly, Squalo felt heat rise to his cheeks, and for once did what he was told. A light rain began to fall as the snake slowly lowered its head, hood collapsing, and it slithered past them. Squalo’s nose twitched. The grip on his shoulder tightened. “There. Was that so hard?”

“Bite me.” Squalo pulled away from him with a growl. “What could I possibly give you, anyways? What do you want to know?”

They began to walk again and Virgil’s eyes became soft and kind once more. Like a switch, the anger was gone, and it made Squalo’s mouth feel dry. “You. What’s your story? Aside from killing Tyr and becoming Sword Emperor---what events made you into who you are? What made you care for a self-destructive man so much that you go to such great lengths to please him?”

Squalo’s blood ran cold, eyes narrowing as his head whipped to look at the man. “That’s none of your fuckin’ business!”

“Then I won’t tell you why I’m here, Superbi Squalo.”

_Tou-fucking-ché._

Hours later, they were cradled in the airplane wreckage, bodies long rotted away and only bones left. There was no stench, but he still saw them past the skeletal remains. A mother clutching a baby, tiny bones scattered where her lap once was, mother’s skull fractured from a slam against the airplane’s walls. Squalo stared, unable to pull himself away, unable to forget. Forgetting was always difficult and even in his wildest dreams he could never have imagined someone being so protective of him. Maybe the baby had cried. Maybe the mother had cried.

He felt Virgil’s eyes on him, but he did not turn. They would be kind, sympathetic eyes. Squalo did not want sympathy. Even when his eyes stung and his stomach rolled, he did not want sympathy. “I can’t imagine someone like that. A mother like that.” His eyes burned.

“It’s a hard thing to see something that you do not have.” Virgil’s voice was sympathetic, as expected, and Squalo breathed hard through his nose. 

Finally, finally, he turned away. “It doesn’t matter now.” But it did matter--and that’s what Squalo hated most. “I’m looking for a black, hard case. Weather proof.” His vision was a little blurry and he sniffed a bit. Maybe he was getting a cold. Not good. Not here.

Looking through the torn apart plane was a nightmare. Sharp steel edges jutted out of the ground and debris made walking look more like playing a game of Twister, except the Twister pad was covered in ants, and the ants were crawling all over him. “Are you going to answer my questions?” When Virgil was met with curses, he let out a long sigh, as if Squalo made him suffer more than the awful jungle did. “And here I thought we had made progress.”

“Fuck off and help.” Well, those were two very opposite commands. Squalo slapped an ant off his cheek. “I spent a few years in an orphanage. It was shitty. The kids were shitty. The people running it were shitty.” When he spotted the suitcase he wanted, Squalo jumped over a half rotted log, and grunted. “Then I ran for a few years. It was cold; it was miserable.” Even now, he hated being hungry, and his stomach growled at the thought of food. Back then, he was always hungry, and always afraid. Thinking about the past made his throat burn.

“But I got into street fighting---the mafia school accepted me---and that’s how things went. Simple. Easy.” It wasn’t easy at all. If it weren’t for Dino, he probably would have dropped out there too, and God knows where he’d be if it wasn’t for that stupid clutz.

“Was it easy?” Virgil mused, holing out his hands so that Squalo could toss the case to him. Squalo clambered back over the mess, frown deepening as he fought to keep his cool. 

“Of course it wasn’t fucking easy.” When he stood beside Virgil again, he growled and gnashed his teeth. “Why did no one come to the rescue again? Last time I checked people freak the fuck out when planes crash.”

To this, Virgil shrugged. “It wasn’t a part of any of the brand airlines. A private craft meant for leisure or...other activities.” Illegal activities no doubt, but Squalo decided to not push it much further. He got what he came for.

“We need to get to the extraction point.” Now that he had the item in question, he was done fucking around. “If we head up now, we could get there by next afternoon.” 

Virgil sighed, as if Squalo were a fool, and shook his head. “Lugging the case it will take longer.”

Squalo bristled. “I’m not staying in the fucking skeleton graveyard another goddamn minute. Stay here if you want.” He reached out and yanked the case away from Virgil. “I’m going.”

Every time he looked at the bones, they only reminded him of himself.


	3. Canto III - Heated

When the forest was quiet something was wrong, but neither of them could say what it was. They dined on snake for breakfast, the crunch of scales sounding much louder than it really was. Neither of them had been able to sleep. “They should have been here days ago.” Squalo muttered as he chewed, spittle flying. He’d lost his manners when he realized they were going to be stuck here for a while. “You fucking stink.”

Virgil’s manners were impeccable---he even wiped his mouth with the hem of his sleeve before he spoke. “A perpetual stench means that one is alive---though I would enjoy a shower, then a long bath. Perhaps with some incense.” His jaw barely moved when he chewed.

“Or some bleach. Swim in it, drink it, anything to forget this fucking disaster of a mission.” Maybe it’d make him forget other things too. That would be nice.

“Positive thinking gets positive results. The weather has cleared; we have smoke from the fire---” 

Virgil frowned when Squalo cut him off with a loud hack of spit. He aimed it right into the fire, if only to spite Virgil just a little. “Fuck the fire and fuck the weather. We should be doing something.”

“We should be doing nothing.” He motioned toward the meat they were smoking. “What we have here is sustainable. The further we go from the evac point, the less likely they are to find us.”

“I fucking know that, Virgil!” Squalo shouted. A bird squaked as he tossed a rock at the damn thing.

“Then stop talking.” Now they were both on edge, eyeing each other from the other side of the fire. With minimal food and the constant threat of disease, neither of them were faring well, though Virgil had managed to survive here much longer.

“I’ll stop talking when I run outta things to say you little fuck.” Hurling another rock at a bird, it was mainly to make them go away---they kept shitting near the fire. “...I ran out of things to say.” His life was always so occupied with the other Varia members and his job. Now that all there was to do was wait and listen to his own thoughts, the pit of his stomach felt empty, and at the moment it wasn’t from hunger. “So are you some sorta...drug smuggler?” 

“Human trafficker, actually.” The bland stare made it hard to tell if Virgil was joking or not. “Judging by your look, that was in poor taste?”

“No fucking shit. Jesus Christ.” Squalo shook his head and threw a pebble at Virgil. The other caught it and threw it back.

“So even the Varia has their standards. Interesting.” They kept passing the stone back and forth, with a little more animosity each time.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t think Mammon even deals with that stuff---why’d you have to get so dark? Usually you’re a ray of fucking sunshine.” Well, not a ray of it. More like a dapple of light on the forest floor---but that was too poetic for the mood that Squalo was in.

“I’ve been here for months. You’ve been here...what, two weeks? Yet your fuse has managed to be short from day one. I’d say you’re the unpleasant one.” This time Virgil tossed the pebble into the river. It skipped three times before sinking. “Busy yourself with something then---build yourself a hammock. Get some bananas. But even I have limits, Superbi Squalo.”

“Is that a fucking threat, old man?” Squalo grinned. The man was weaker than him by his looks, but it had been so long since he fought someone that knocking down the old fart might not feel half bad.

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing is more than a warning.” Virgil shrugged, getting up and beginning a slow stroll down the river. “Don’t get eaten by crocodiles while I’m gone.”

“Oh no---” Squalo stomped after him, snarling now. “You don’t get to fucking threaten me then walk away.” He leaped forward, grabbing for Virgil’s shoulder, but the old man came at him with surprising speed. The old man’s gnarled fist landed square on his nose and Squalo screamed, but it was too late. He’d let his guard down. When Squalo hit the ground his vision blurred and he hissed, the blade of his sword snapping into position, but he was already losing consciousness. 

“I’m sorry, Squalo. But you really should have been a bit nicer. This could have been much, much more pleasant.” Virgil’s foot slammed into the side of his head and Squalo’s body jolted before going limp, sun beating down on him. A fly landed on his slackened jaw, its spindly legs twitching before it bit down onto Squalo’s lower lip. As the sun grew higher, more flies came and went. Somewhere, not so far off, an old man sat on a black suitcase, lips curving into a smile as he heard the steady, far off hum of a helicopter.


	4. Canto IV: Fractured

Light filtered in through the blinds, awakening Squalo from a fitful dream about the old man and the suitcase. Every bone, muscle, and tendon in his body ached. It had taken a month post evacuation for him to be ‘better’ in medical terms, but they still had not released him from the hospital. In each dream he was covered in thousands of flies, his body decomposing while the sun rose high in the sky. “Luss?” Usually the flamboyant man came to visit him during the afternoon, but as he looked around the room he realized that he had a different visitor. “Boss?”

“It took you long enough, Shitty Shark. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” Xanxus was nursing a canteen of what, Squalo assumed, was whisky he’d snuck in. Face covered in scars and a scowl, Squalo had thought for sure that he wasn’t going to see Xanxus again. When Squalo shifted to leave his bed, Xanxus held his hand up. “Take several seats, Shithead.” It was rare for Boss to make the effort of going to a hospital, let alone move his carcass out of his chair to get a better look at the injured party. Squalo frowned as Xanxus towered above him, bringing the canteen to Squalo’s lips. “Drink.”

Xanxus didn’t need to ask twice. It felt like years since Squalo had alcohol and even though whisky wasn’t his favorite, he’d take it over water or lemonade. Careful to not drink too much, Squalo handed it back over after two gulps, nose crinkling as he throat burned. “Did you get the information you wanted?” That was the proper question to ask and Squalo would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

“None of your fucking business.” The short reply was given with a sneer. “Last time I checked, I had told you from the start that it was none of your business. Or has that fever made you retarded?” 

“VOI! I NEARLY DIED FOR A STUPID FUCKING BOX!” Squalo grabbed Xanxus’ wrist. “THE LEAST YOU COULD FUCKING DO IS TELL ME WHAT’S IN THE LITTLE SHIT.” The next few seconds were a blur of angry insults and rough, calloused hands shoving his body back down onto the bed. Xanxus’ fingernails dug into his shoulders until they broke the skin and Squalo snarled as Xanxus leaned in close.

“You do what I tell you to, trash.” It felt like his arms were on fire and he could smell the whisky on his boss’ lips. “And if you ever demand something of me again I’ll give you a reason to scream.” Squalo’s shoulders shook as he struggled to look Xanxus in the eyes---he was weak, but he wasn’t weak enough to give in so easily. Squalo canted his head back and then smashed his forehead onto the bridge of Xanxus’ nose. The Wrath user screamed in rage as Lussuria and the nurses rushed in, all of them trying to rip Xanxus off of Squalo. There were more threats shouted as blood spurted from Xanxus’ nose and Squalo’s vision blurred as more people came in. It took four nurses and three security guards to drag Xanxus out, Lussuria suggesting that they simply lock him in a room until he got a hold of himself. While all this happened, Squalo’s breathing grew shaky, and his mouth felt dry.

“Fuck you.” He choked out, silver hair cascading over his shoulders as he pushed himself back up, but Xanxus was gone. After all he’d gone through and all he had put up with over the years, Xanxus still treated him as if he were his servant and not his right hand. When the nurse came to offer him more painkillers, Squalo shook his head.

He already felt numb.

Three more days passed until he was released from the hospital and no one had come since the incident. Belphegor had texted him, saying that it had been funny to see Xanxus with his nose actually bent out of shape, but nothing else came. By the time he had his own clothes on and was out the door, Squalo felt tired---where was he going to go?

Going back to the castle was not an option. If Xanxus was still angry, it’d do no good to sit inside of a hornet’s nest, but Squalo didn’t want to be too stagnant. It had already been too long since his last kill. Outside the autumn air was brisk and the leaves were red and gold, but he didn’t notice the beauty of it. Squalo sneered, pulling his iPhone from the pocket of his designer jeans, and began to go through his contact list. 

Belphegor didn’t drive because princes shouldn’t have to.

Fran didn’t drive because he was young and used to public transport.

The Vongola Brats were all brats.

Lussuria would be heading out to a drag show with their new flavor of the month boy to

Levi hated his fucking guts for being the Second in Command.

Mammon was still a baby.

Squalo let out a loud sigh. “What the fuck.” Aside from Lussuria, the Varia elite were a bunch of hot messes. “How would they even survive without me.” Just fine, according to Xanxus, but he was the worst of them all. He finally elected to message Dino, hoping that the bronco would be free from any work related activity.

SQ:

‘Can you pick me up from the hospital?’

HORSE:

‘ udfpos[as94000\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\’

SQ:

‘Dino? Is this just your ass texting me?’

SQ:

‘I swear to fucking GOD Dino.’

HORSE:

‘Squalo!! Sorry. Sure I can pick you up :)’

SQ:

‘Thanks. Don’t geld yourself on the way here.’

At least that was over with. When the wind blew just right it made him shiver. It felt like it was cutting him down to the bone even though it wasn’t all that cold---granted, the doctor said for him to stay warm and hydrated. Opting to sit on a bench instead of going back inside the pristine white hellhole he’d spent the past few weeks in, Squalo flinched when his stump began to ache. Phantom pain from the hand he’d cut off---nothing new---and he knew the difference between this and Xanxus being in trouble.

Without a book to keep him occupied, the burning sensation only grew worse, and Squalo fought the urge to swear loudly as a woman with two dogs walked past him. By the time Dino pulled up, Squalo was officially cold, so he glowered at the blond as he opened the window.

“Took you fucking long enough.” 

Even with Dino smiling at him, Squalo had never felt more alone.


	5. Canto IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of abuse, degradation

hunder roared as they stared at each other on opposite ends of the dinner table. Made to fit many people, the distance between them may as well have been light years. Two small specks of human emotion and flesh and neither of them were able to find the strength---or desire---to speak. Each stab at steak felt like it took a lifetime to complete. Squalo chewed; Squalo swallowed. The silence went on.

 

And on.

 

Eyes finally met, his own steely blue against chestnut. Even looking at Xanxus was a war. They stared for a long time before Squalo blinked. Xanxus’ eyes flickered---some emotion that Squalo couldn’t identify---and then went back to his meal. “You over seasoned it, trash.”

 

“I use the same amount every time.” His answer was quick as his cheeks reddened. Anger and embarrassment melded into one and made his stomach feel queasy.

 

“I know.” Xanxus grunted and shoved his plate away. All was gone except for the vegetables. Childish as always.

 

“So why the fuck’re you complaining then?!” Loud---exasperated--- the bags under his eyes felt heavy. 

 

Another long silence as Xanxus stared him down. A twitch of his jaw. He was angry. “I don’t know.” The words came slowly, as if he had chewed them up and spat them out. “It bothers you.” An acknowledgement and nothing more. 

 

Squalo’s silence was admittance. Xanxus’ throne like chair groans and the scrape of its legs screeched as he shoved it backwards. Slow and deliberate footsteps followed. When Squalo swallowed, his heart felt as if it were in his throat, and steely blue eyes follow the scarred man. They followed Xanxus directly to himself. “Boss---”

 

“Shut up.” When his hand reached over and hovered above Squalo’s cheek, he flinched, and Xanxus sneered. That was a mistake. “You’re afraid of me, trash.” And the sneer made him want to leap upward, but Xanxus’ hand wrapped around long locks of hair. “Admit it.”

 

“Fuck you.” Squalo snarled, pupils small as his eyes narrowed. “No one likes to get hit for just fucking exisiting. And you have a shitty habit of doing everything in your power to make me hate you.” The grip on his hair tightened and fingernails dug into his skull. It burned---oh, how it burned. 

 

“I’ll do whatever I want with you.” A yank of his hair highlighted his words. His gaze softened. “Get up.”  Squalo stood up. It was automatic---he barely even felt like he was in the room. The grip on his hair loosened and thick, sturdy arms wrapped around his body. “I’m cold.” Ever since being trapped, Xanxus was cold, and even though his body felt perfectly warm he complained. Maybe it was his scars burning. Maybe they burned like his missing hand did.

 

“Stop trying to fucking endear me---you’re avoiding the problem.” He slung his arms around Xanxus’ waist anyways.

 

“It was an accusation.” Xanxus snorted.

 

“You through a half full glass of whisky at me this morning. Don’t fucking argue semantics with me---you’ll lose.” There was another long silence. Xanxus buried his face into the crook of Squalo’s neck. Warm breath made him shiver. “Stop. You’re being a fucking brat.”

 

“Superbi.” The name whispered softly---it was his name---and it made him want to forgive everything Xanxus had ever done to him all at once.

 

“It’s not going to fucking work.” Heat crawled up his neck when Xanxus pressed a soft kiss to his throat. Pressed his lips right against his quickening pulseline. “I swear to God, I’ll break your goddamn neck---” And then teeth dragged along his flesh and left red marks on his skin. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly gave in. It was almost enough to make everything worth it. A promise that he was existing in Xanxus’ life and gave him some satisfaction. That was a dream. A toxic, wretched dream that needed to stop. Needed to not come to life. “Get off of me.” His tone was stoic. Adamant. 

 

Xanxus paused. Stepped back, hands balled into fists. Eyes wide---unused to rejection from the shark. “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me, Superbi.”

 

“I’m not playing this bullshit game anymore. I’m not just some fucking toy that you can throw around on a whim. And if you keep at it, I’ll leave. I’ll fucking leave you, Xanxus. And I won’t look back.” The words tumbled forth before he could stop them. They weren’t screamed; they weren’t desperate to be heard. Xanxus would hear him now or he wouldn’t hear him at all.

 

Xanxus’ loud boisterous laughter followed. Gods above, how he loved that cruel laugh. Squalo kept his mouth shut and watched as the laughter slowed. When Xanxus’ laughter was met with silence and not the usual shouting, it made him pause once more. “You wouldn’t leave me.” Incredulous words were strung together on a whim. “You’d fucking die. I’d kill you in a heartbeat, Superbi Squalo. Don’t you get it, you stupid shit?”

 

Squalo know that Xanxus wasn’t one for empty threats, but his hands weren’t even going for his guns. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years...silence is powerful. And being alone---Christ knows I know all about that.” This horrible, gnarled feeling in his stomach ate away at his very being. Nearly all of him wanted to apologize. Wanted to take it all back. “You don’t have the power---I do.”

 

Turning his back on Xanxus, Squalo walked out the large double doors and strode through the halls.

  
It hurt more than cutting off his own hand; it hurt more than looking at Xanxus’ frozen form all those years ago. No, nothing was more painful than self-realization. 


End file.
